  My best friend in the entire world is my godbrother. I've known him since the moment of his birth, we went to the same parochial school, and we try to get together at every available opportunity--not an easy feat, considering the fact that we live 6 hours apart. We find this incredible combination of absurdity, biting cleverness, and similar theories which no other friend can possibly match (...so don't even try, if you know what's good for you). We've never been angry with each other--at least not seriously--and have unashamedly admitted that we are each other's platonic soulmate, forever, regardless of what happens in our lives. He is the kind of friend for which you would gladly lay down your life and your pride, time and time again. And he is hurting, and I can't stand it. He is in love with a friend, and wants to tell her. Not a good idea, as far as I'm concerned.
It never works out, and then everyone is uncomfortable and angry, and wondering why the instigator had to go and complicate everything. But then again, can one possibly turn away from their feelings? The answer is "no", in my opinion. So I can only hope the very best for this fool's errand, this Shakespearean tragedy in the making, this downward spiral. I wonder if this girl knows how wonderful he really is. I wonder if she understands how much he has thought and thought and then thought some more about not ruining their friendship. I wonder if she is like me, unable to say no and hurt someone like that...but then I wonder if half the problems I face would be easier if I were a little colder and unfriendly, able to detach myself from interested parties' feelings and sear them with a single look of contempt. Perhaps things would be easier if I were just cruel. Why do I always hurt so much more for other people?
I hurt on my own behalf, too, but then drop the idea rather quickly, because I'm usually hurting because of my own stupidity or reckless behavior, and I refuse to waste my time with retrospective forehead-smacking. But for other people...I am a regular Mother Theresa, taking on their pain and holding it close to myself until I am consumed with remorse, guilt, shame, sadness. I'm like Heath Ledger's character in that movie "The Order" (which was utterly unremarkable, save for this analogy), in which he takes a person's sins away from them at the moment of their death so that they may ascend to glory unfettered.
Is my concern for him borne of a selfishness that whispers, "Don't let yourself be caught up again," or of true compassion? No conclusion to be drawn from this. Just some painful thoughts in which to wallow while I contemplate changing my entire personality for the billionth time. 
